


Empty Chair

by ceirdwenfc



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8.16, Gen, M/M, fan fic, remember the titans - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceirdwenfc/pseuds/ceirdwenfc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All prayers are answered, just not always the way we would like them to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Chair

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Dean’s prayer used verbatim, no copyright infringement intended, no money made  
> Spoilers for 8.10 and 8.16

Every time he returned to the Winchesters, he tried to remember all that was happening up here, but he couldn't. It all faded in a swirl of white mist. When he was up here, he'd stay silent when he could, he'd stare until the scene was embedded in his mind, and then he was there with Dean, with Crowley, holding Samandriel's lifeless body in his arms, and he remembered nothing of this place. Had Samandriel attacked him? No. He didn't think so.

Why did he kill him? He was about to tell him about…..about someone.

When he was up here, he remembered that he wanted to tell Dean. He wanted it as much as Dean wanted to know what was happening to Castiel. He could see it in his eyes – Dean knew; he knew there was something, but Castiel just shrugged it off, feigning that he was fine. He didn't feel fine, but he couldn't feel anything and couldn't say anything else other than _my vessel must have been damaged; I'm fine_.

Then he'd be back up here, and he'd remember it all. Both Heaven and Earth. Naomi and Dean. Samandriel. Poor, dead Samandriel.

And he wasn't fine.

Castiel stared through the misty window. There wasn't much to see through the whiteness, the puffy cloudness. He heard the footsteps and ignored them. He needed to keep his composure, his focus, and turning to face Naomi after……after – Dean's voice burned in his ears – Alfie, world's most adorable angel – Samandriel's death –

He snorted in that way that Dean did derisively sometimes; it was his special way of expressing that the person he was listening to was an idiot. The irony was not lost on Castiel. He was the idiot.

He was much worse.

Samandriel.

He snorted again as the words echoed in his head, different voices taking it up almost chant-like.

His murder. Samandriel's murder. He was a murderer.

He flinched, but tightened his fist.

He felt the blood seeping under his fingernail and he ignored it. It wasn't real pain, not for him. For him, the pain came with the next thought, the next hearkened voice.

He'd killed before, and he would again. Smiting one who deserved it was never a problem for him. But Samandriel – his brother's death was meaningless and Castiel couldn't stop it.

He remained with his back to Naomi when her footsteps stopped shuffling behind him. He waited for her to speak. She would soon enough; she hated waiting for anything, especially the angels who she had recruited – that was her word – recruited – to do her bidding.

His silence was the only thing he had control of right now.

He felt the air change, but he remained still except for a slight tension in his shoulders, hearing the memory, the words from his vessel to himself, 'you promised, Castiel.'

He'd made other promises, and he was using all the strength he had left to resist the urge to immediately and noisily keep this _one_ promise, the one that meant the most, but he twisted his neck slightly, lifted his shoulders, and tucked the wings back in lest he run away.

There was an outtake of breath from far away, but Naomi couldn't feel it, couldn't sense it, but Castiel did. He felt all of it.

The anger from the other day, the laughter, the seething tight lipped pain of the sword on his finger, but today was just tired; weary; worried.

He felt the pull and leaned his body towards the voice.

_"Cas, you got your ears on? Listen, you know –"_

"Tell me about Sam and Dean."

Castiel was jerked back instantly. He continued to remain silent and the woman repeated the question with a little more purposefulness, "Tell me about Sam. And Dean."

Castiel grimaced, biting his lip and turned to face Naomi.

"I have nothing to report to you."

That was the truth even if it was wrapped in semantics. He turned back towards the shrouded window.

"Nothing?"

_" – I'm not one for praying 'cause in my book it's….it's the same as begging, but this is about Sam –"_

"Castiel?"

Naomi's voice suggested annoyance and Castiel turned towards her. He tilted his head to the left and stared at her for what seemed like minutes, but wasn't more than a few seconds.

_" – so I need you to hear me. We're going into this deal blind…..and I don't know what's ahead or what it's going to bring –"_

"Naomi, I have no choice but to report to you. You have made that quite clear. If the Winchesters had called me, I would have gone to them. Just as you told me to."

"I'm not sure that you understand the importance –"

"I understand what's at stake," he said, turning and taking a step towards her, his lips tightening. "Possibly better than you."

He continued to look at her until she took a breath, her eyes narrowing, but she turned to leave. He remained still, watching her go, but his mind had already left the room.

_" – for Sam. Now, he's covering pretty good, but I know that he's hurting, and this one was supposed to be on me."_

Castiel faltered, recovering by grabbing the back of the chair at his side.

_"So, for all that we've been through, I’m asking you….you keep a lookout for my little brother, okay?"_

"Dean," Cas said under his breath and a part of him felt Dean look towards him, but he dared not go to him, dared not answer even in Dean's dreams.

He heard the pain in Dean's voice, the energy it took to beg Cas to take care of Sam, the one responsibility he gave to _no one_ and Castiel knew the significance of that gesture towards him. He _wanted_ to reach out, wanted to reassure Dean that whatever was happening, he would watch out for Sam; and of course, for Dean as well. He felt as though Sam were also calling to him, but with so many things vying for attention in his brain, all he had room for was keeping Naomi out of this place, and hearing Dean even if he couldn't go to him. He craved for his family – the people that mattered to him; the man who mattered to him more than the others.


End file.
